An Eternity to Be Over by Heddwynn McCloud
by W. Stock
Summary: This story is a long-lest gem from one of my favorite authors, Heddwynn McCloud. It was published in 2010 and was deleted in March 2011 along with his other 2 stories after bullying. I convinced him to rejoin the site. He deleted it again close to Dec/24/11 because he said he could not find anywhere to take it. I have a great admiration for it and wish the other two were not lost.
1. Ma Duchesse

**I do not own **_**The Aristocats**_**; they are owned by the Walt Disney Motion Pictures Group. I also do not own any of the Disney characters mentioned; they are also a product of the Walt Disney Motion Pictures Group. I make no profit from writing this, other than personal enjoyment.**

A beautiful song could be heard on a dreary bleak night in the sewers of London.

Rain fell down enough to make even a walking man's vision blur and his bones chill. Any vehicle mad enough to drive in that weather would've literally been parting the roads, which would've been a horrifying sight for anyone that would've bothered to see the flurry of blurry light on that dark night. All buildings resorted to lighting candles to see; they didn't have much choice, given that the electricity was kaput at that time. Not a single human walked the streets, or even the sidewalks, that night. Even the docks on the River Thames were abandoned.

If people were outside, though, they might've heard the soft, lullaby-like music coming from a storm drain near the docks. The music was constantly muffled by water rushing, running through the bars, but at certain times, where the drain was lucky enough to breathe, it could be heard. The water rushing down led into what was once a notorious criminal hideaway; now it had become another underground tavern.

Of course, the rain flooded the gang of mice and whatnot out from the luxurious bar, although no water even touched the red carpet. The mice avoided this place for an entirely different reason; the cold rain would've only added on to their current grief.

Now, at the bottom of the dark hole, were three inhabitants: one lucky enough to survive a fall of nearly 100 meters (96.3 meters minus the distance from the top to the hand at the ten position, to be exact), one exceeding brave (or exceedingly stupid) lizard named Bill, and one female mouse who was simply known as "Little Sister."

Bill, in traditional chimney sweep attire, guarded the door, listening to the playing gramophone. He had an inkling of what would happen if he disturbed his once-proud master, who had been sitting in that barrel of a room since he recovered, sulking his life away. He had been cared for by few of his loyal goons (those who actually had some sympathy for him) and one little mouse who had come from her church to help.

This little mouse, half the size of Bill, came out of the tavern with her apron full of a tray of goodies: a bowl of steaming chicken soup, a glass of (clean) water, and a few blueberry Danishes made personally by her.

Bill, attracted by the aroma of chicken, looked around to Little Sister wading in the water. "My dear, why don't I take that tray from ya? It looks mighty heavy."

Little Sister had no choice; her hands were hidden in her apron, and Bill had already slid the tray into his hands.

"But Bill," she began with her soft voice. "Won't he . . . you know?"

"Nah," the lizard said cheerfully. "He's always liked me, he 'as. I'll take it to him, don't ya worry." Bill opened the door, helping the music spread out and echo in the hovel where they were. "'Ello, gov'na! Your food's he-ee-ee-ya-ha-AAAHHHHHH!" The next thing anyone knew, Bill was flying like a javelin through the air, landing on the water and skipping across it until he slammed into the brick wall on the opposite side.

"WHY DO YOU DISTURB ME?"

Little Sister soon stood face to navel with a large, rather disheveled rat. His greasy hair went every which way (some even brushed his eyeballs); his sclerae were yellow, and blood vessels showed in them like a highway map. His clothes were fading black, and torn, and they reeked of salt water. His fur was unkempt, and his tail had tidbits of what appeared to be food stuck onto it. His fangs, yellow and dripping with who knew what, were barred at her . . .

Only for a short while; once he saw who it was, he slowly regained his composure.

"My dear," he wheezed; she coughed from the stench that protruded from those words. "Did you bring me that supper?"

Little Sister, after finally ceasing her coughing fit, looked at him with a small smile. "I did, Professor Ratigan."

"Please . . . call me Padraic. I am no longer a professor, and my last name haunts me still." He turned around to his room, slouching away. Little Sister turned away and was about to take a step down the stairs when,

"Please come in."

She stopped where she was. From the long while she had been there, caring for him, she had never been 'invited' into his room before. There was a moment of apprehension before a ripple of water caught her tail. She went inside.

His room was a complete mess! Papers were everywhere, not missing one inch of the floor. A broken box, which looked like it was once a control panel, stood in place next to a dilapidated table. Bits of food were seen every which way, even on the roof, and a dreadful mold began to grow in one of the corners.

And all the while, the beautiful lullaby was playing from the gramophone next to a cozy looking (well, apart from the torn mattress and ripped blankets) bed supporting Ratigan, who eyed her with the utmost patience.

"Padraic, this place is . . . uh,-"

"In a state of disarray," he moaned in miserably. "I'm fully aware of that."

Little Sister was about to pick up one sheet of paper when she heard a rather loud "STOP!" She dropped the paper and froze. "Your hands . . ."

_Blast_, she thought to herself. _Out of all the things to notice-_

"Allow me to see them, please."

There was no denying Padraic Ratigan after that last outburst; Little Sister held her hands out for him to see, closing her eyes, waiting for the inevitable pain. Ratigan only grabbed her wrists, and observed her hands in this fashion.

"Erythema present, but no visible blisters, no eschars. This is a first-degree burn, my dear."

Little Sister had never heard of any degree burn before. "Is that a bad thing?"

"It depends." He looked seriously at her. "How did this happen?"

"I couldn't cook with the power out, so I made a fire and-"

"Enough said." He got up, and quickly went to the only cabinet in the room that wasn't broken. He rummaged through bottles and boxes until he found what he was looking for. He looked back at her with a small smile. "It could've been worse."

And from that moment, he wrapped a long bandage around each arm, soothing her, as she constantly flinched from the pain. He took everything slowly, and stopped at every silent gasp she made. Soon both of her hands were completely bandaged over twice, and Ratigan was left to slouch into his bed again, and stare at the dripping ceiling. The music continued to play, the woman continued to sing, the piccolo continued to blow, the harp continued to strum, the chimes continued to be swayed every which way, ever so softly.

Little Sister couldn't help but laugh to herself. Ratigan instantly looked at her, a frown on his face.

"And what makes you laugh, Little Sister?"

"I laugh," she began, and he could see a tear building up in her eye, "only to keep myself from weeping."

Ratigan's eyes widened and his gaze intensified on her. "What would make you wanna-"

"Look at yourself, Padraic! "Her breathing became heaving, and a few more tears ran down her face. Ratigan did so quickly, obeying her command to look at himself, and yet he looked away just as quick.

"It's a monster!"

Little Sister placed one of her small bandaged hands on his shoulder (he was slouching, which helped her quite a bit); Ratigan didn't look back. "You're a right mess, and you need to recover from this nightmare. You're alive, and that's a blessing."

"But Basil-"

"Basil, the second-rate detective?" She had never been one for insults, but she thought that if it was the only way to cheer her friend up, then it was necessary. "You would've finished him off had that clock not struck ten." Unexpectedly, Little Sister vomited. Ratigan silently listened as she finished. "My apologies for that."

"It matters little," he said monotonously. "You may be right, but circumstances always favor Basil of Baker Street . . . they always have." He turned to face the wall, and curled up into silence. Little Sister stood there, not knowing exactly what to do. Then, she remembered of something in the room, something that could begin a conversation.

"This song's beautiful."

Ratigan's ear perked up, and it turned to the still-playing gramophone. "Yes, it is."

Little Sister invited herself to the cover of the vinyl that Ratigan was playing. On it, a female singer was in the front, and eight musicians were in the background. The women had forever been painted with her mouth open, and one could almost see her tonsils vibrating from her voice.

"Is this the band?"

Ratigan slowly rose like a vampire, a turned to see the cover. "Actually, they're more like a small orchestra."

She eyed them all carefully. There were two flautists, one harper, one piano player, two violinists, one violist and one cellist. "I don't recognize any of them, and there's no name on the cover. Do you know who they are?"

"Of course," he replied with a wave of his hand. He turned and glanced at it, and then said, "Do you see those violinists?"

She turned her attention to the four with the bow-and-string instruments. "Yes, Padraic."

She looked back to see that he wasn't looking at the cover. "The one on the far left has an earring on his left ear, with a lapis lazuli stone in it. He's a hefty man decorated with an insignia for a Major of the British Army hidden underneath his jacket. He's the only man there of British nationality."

Of course, the only ear visible in the picture was the cellist's left, but there it was, a lapis lazuli stone carved into an earring. Indeed, he was a hefty man, the heftiest on the stage, and Little Sister could see, just under his jacket, a crown. He had indeed served as a Major of the British Army.

"Impressive, Padraic!"

He didn't move, but she could hear the slightest hint of a chuckle emanating from him. "It's nothing, really."

"Can you do the violist next?" She watched as his eyes never shifted to her direction, but they stared at the ceiling, moving and squinting for some time.

"He's the man on the far right. He has no jewelry on . . . they probably would've taken the attention from his big ears, and pale face, and heterochromatic eyes."

He had been right about all of his attributes as well . . . even the eyes. "What color are they?"

"The left is . . . his left is green, while his right is blue."

Spot on again! "Astounding!"

Ratigan was smiling now. "I really don't understand how you could be entertained by this. I'm just remembering what I've seen."

"But that's the fun of it."

Ratigan chuckled again. "Very well, then . . . if it makes you happy." He cleared his throat. "The violinists are twin brothers, both black haired, pointy-nosed, and green-eyed. In case you're wondering, the one on OUR left is playing right handed, and the one on OUR right is playing left handed, on purpose so that the bows could cross, to create the image of two blades clashing in midair."

Little Sister oohed in surprise. Despite all of this, she wasn't satisfied _just _yet. "How can one tell the difference between the brothers in this photo?"

"Their hair," Ratigan said relaxed. "The brother on the left of the cover has neat, combed hair, while the other's is ruffled and rugged, completely disheveled."

"Unbelievable," Little Sister exclaimed loudly as she traced, from her left to right, the hefty Major, the neat haired twin, the messy haired twin, and the pale, brunette violist. Padraic laughed louder.

"Yes, well these four are-or I shall say _were_-members of _Les Poètes Infatigables_, The Tireless Poets."

Little Sister chuckled. "They sound very good, but they're not the only one's one the cover. You still have five people to go."

"Yeah," he said as the music changed to a more upbeat tune. "You're absolutely right."

"May you do the pianist next?"

"Of course," Ratigan said in a higher, more cheerful tone. "He has gray hair, but very few wrinkles on his face, and grayish . . . grayish-blue eyes! And a mole on his right cheek."

"Very good, but there is one more thing . . ."

"The white rose on his suit?"

"That's it." Little Sister still shook her head in disbelief at what he was doing.

"One more thing, though . . . look at his legs." She did, and gasped loudly. "That's right . . . clubfoot, his left foot, barely visible. The artist made sure to only _hint _of his condition."

"Poor man . . ."

"Yes, indeed," Ratigan said with some sympathy. "Shall we move on, then, to the harper?"

"Yes, we should," Little Sister said quickly, not wanting to focus on the old man's foot too long.

"She is blue-eyed, has long white hair, tied in a ponytail with three ribbons: red, blue, and pink, from top to bottom. She actually differs from the others in that she's wearing a long blue dress, and she is wearing no jewelry . . . or shoes, for that matter."

That had been true from her white hair to her bare feet. "And the piccolists, Mr. Padraic?"

Ratigan was becoming more excited by the second, just as the music picked up even more. "Uh, the nearest one is a young redhead, with curly hair and green eyes. She has earrings and a ring on her ring finger, conveniently. She smiles to the point where you can see her teeth, unlike the other musicians in the picture . . . save the pianist, who's mouth is open, as he looks upward smiling, like he's singing to the heavens.

"The other woman is a chubby brunette with short hair, brown eyes, glasses, and rosy pink lips. She wears a pearl necklace. Both piccolists wear black dresses."

Little Sister could only stare at what he had correctly said; everything was correct. All that was left was the singer, who, now that she truly stared at her . . .

"The singer looks familiar."

"You don't recognize her," he asked playfully. "You see her every night at the House of Mouse."

Little Sister looked at the lady a little closer. She couldn't have been any younger than her fifties. Her hair, her dress, her mannerisms-

Little Sister gasped. "Lady Bomfamille?"

"Yes," Ratigan said right behind her, startling her a bit. "The Adelaide Bomfamille, fifty-two years of age, twenty-one years ago."

Little Sister was astounded. It was Adelaide indeed, with that smile and that hairstyle, although it still had a trace of black in the cover, and her face had probably a third of the wrinkles that she had today. Little Sister wondered how she didn't recognize that slender body of Adelaide's [clothed in a magenta dress], or her dainty hand, lifted above her head as she sang.

"I don't believe it. So that person singing now . . . that's _her_?"

"Sure is." Padraic let out a long sigh. "And this particular vinyl is rare."

Little Sister looked up to him. "Did something happen?"

"Shortly after, they all disbanded in different directions. No one really knows why, and Adelaide hasn't told anybody."

"Do you know what happened," Little Sister asked as she sat next to him on the bed.

"Some say they disagreed on something, like a song; others claim that there was a disappearance. I personally don't know, and all we are sure of is, Ms. Bomfamille retired shortly after." Ratigan looked like he was about to fall to sleep. Little Sister smiled, and helped him to lie down, quickly making his bed in the process. She then walked back to the vinyl cover, looking at the men again, and the women again, and Adelaide again. This was all unbelievable to her.

_I wonder if I can find out what this song's called._

There were no words on the front of the cover, and Adelaide was singing in French which made it almost impossible for her to figure it out, so Little Sister squeezed herself behind it. On the back, at the bottom, were words written with what looked like chalk. Little Sister had a thought to touch it, but staved her temptation.

"Padraic?"

"Yes, dear?" It sounded like he was drifting into sleep.

"Can you remember one more thing on this cover, please?"

"Ask, and ye shall receive." She could hear a quiet chuckle from him. She couldn't help but smile.

"Can you translate these words?"

"Words?"

Now Little Sister began to worry, for Ratigan's voice went from drowsy to alert in a matter of seconds. "Th-there is words written on the back of the cover, but I can't make them out."

The next thing she knew, he was right behind her, looking at the words himself. Little Sister looked out to see that the bed was still neat.

"I never noticed words here," Ratigan said stroking his chin curiously. "These words are written in French; they could be Adelaide's."

"What do they say?"

"Un tribut final à ma Duchesse. Je peux me sacrifier pour son bonheur." Ratigan furrowed his brow in concentration. "A final tribute to my duchess. May I sacrifice myself for her happiness."

"That's really sweet," Little Sister commented, running her finger across the penned signatures. One was Adelaide's, and the other one was someone else's. The chalk didn't fade away. "Do you think she was talking of her Duchess?"

"I doubt it," Ratigan said, setting his hand on her shoulder. "Duchess would not have been born at this time. It might be a daughter, or a boss, or . . . a dying friend . . ."

But Ratigan trailed off. He looked like he was concentrating on something, and he remained silent for some time. Then, suddenly, he whirled around to the front cover and stared at it. Little Sister followed as fast as she could.

_The music's become creepy. Those violins screeching . . . it fits the mood._

Ratigan was staring at something on the picture, but she couldn't tell exactly what, or who. "Impossible."

"What's impossible," Little Sister asked, reaching up to put a hand on his bony shoulder.

"And yet it's becoming more obvious . . ." Was he looking at the cellist's brown eyes, or the previously unmentioned ankle bracelet on the younger piccolist? Was there anything on Adelaide that attracted his attention? "Yes . . ."

"Padraic-"

"Come," Ratigan yelled to the sky. "We must make haste to the House of Mouse; this might truly be the greatest revelation I've ever made!"

Little Sister couldn't say anything else as Ratigan quickly disappeared into another room for only a moment, then came out in a new suit, with combed hair and white teeth. He merely gestured for her to take his hand.

"Padraic-"

"Ratigan, my dear," he said with a sneer. "My work isn't over just yet." And he took her hand, and pulled her onto his back. Then, with a joyful laugh, he leapt out from the room, and climbed out of the sewer, and began to sprint towards the direction of the House of Mouse, a distance away.

The music had ceased at its climax; the sewers became silent apart from the rain and the rushing water. Little Sister had an inkling that this was the beginning of an adventure.

**Hey guys. I'm trying to write my own novel, so if you see anything that can be improved from writing in general, please let me know. Also, if you enjoy this fic, please let me know. I do sincerely hope you enjoy it.**


	2. Midnight Sonata the 1st

A beautiful song could be heard in a dark, quiet night in a mansion in Paris.

There was no wind or rain to disturb the people walking down the streets-that is, if there were anyone to blow away or rain down on. Not even the owls screeched or flew about, nor did the mice scurry around. The streets were lit, and the moonlight poured down on Paris, but her houses were pitch black and silent. If any person would've snored that night, that person would've echoed throughout all of Paris.

But instead, the citizens were treated to "The Moonlight Sonata."

The beginning of the song didn't startle Adelaide Bomfamille even though it echoed in the mansion like the chime of a grandfather clock. She sat comfortably perched on the railing of her balcony, staring off into the moonlit River Seine, and stroking a white cat perched on her lap. Both were silent, and both were still; not even Duchess' tail, light as it was, waved with the music.

_Oh, Madame_, Duchess thought to herself. _Pourquoi êtes-vous terrifié?_

Adelaide didn't look it; she was as calm as ever now that she had gotten over the recent catnapping. Duchess put her head to Adelaide's chest and felt her aged heartbeat speed up as the music began to become higher in pitch.

_Pourquoi pleurez-vous? _Indeed, the moonlight made the tears running down her face glisten. The tears glowed with an ocean blue, much like her bright blue, brightly illuminated dress.

_Pourquoi vous ne me parlerez pas? _Indeed, Adelaide had remained silent throughout the day, and all through the night, not speaking to anyone. She had barely left the room today to use the toilette.

_Pourquoi êtes-vous terrifié?_

Adelaide wouldn't answer her, because she didn't ask. When the really high notes were hit, Adelaide's lip began to quaver, yet she continued to look on. Duchess finally decided to leave her alone; she'd go and get her kittens ready for the House, she would. Without a sound, she turned away from the night and perched down to jump. She leapt from the balcony railing . . .

. . . But never hit the ground. For when she was about to land, she was scooped up by a pair of hands, which brought her closer to whom they belonged to, to listen to the aged heartbeat of her master.

"_Ma Duchesse . . ._"

"Whaddaya think's goin' on, Toulouse?"

The pitch-black night had caused the house to become silent, except for what had become the Alley Cat Pad. Most of the animals were asleep, but those who weren't (only four of them weren't: Thomas O'Malley, Scat Cat, Hit Cat, and Frou Frou) chatted around while enjoying the glowing River Seine. Roquefort was asleep in his hole, and Marie had fallen fast asleep on Shun Gon's piano.

Meanwhile, two other kittens, one named Berlioz and the other named Toulouse, sat by the green double-doors of Adelaide's room, with their ears pushed up against the door. Toulouse looked at his brother as he asked that question, just as a sound could be heard inside.

"Madame's crying."

"But why?"

"I don't know."

Berlioz began to form tears in his owns eyes. "Madame's been cryin' an awful lot lately."

"I know bro." Toulouse put a paw on his younger brother's shoulder. "But at least momma's not cryin' right now."

"N-n-not now, anyway."

"Berlioz-"

"Listen!"

They put their ears to the door again; there were two people crying in the room now. Berlioz panicked.

"See? Momma's cryin' now, why is she crying? Why, Toulouse?"

"Shh," Toulouse quickly replied. "We can't let her know we're here."

"*sniffle* right." They resumed their eavesdropping. They heard Adelaide and Duchess continue to cry until the music stopped.

"Hey," Berlioz said, jumping up and down. "Maybe they'll cheer up with the next movement!"

"The what," Toulouse asked his brother.

"That was only the first movement. The second one is a lot more cheerful."

"Really," Toulouse asked, and then put his ear to the door again. Berlioz followed suit. One minute of waiting, and one minute of weeping. Two minutes. Five. Ten. No sound but weeping came from the room, and the clock chimed seven times when Berlioz and Toulouse stopped listening; they almost jumped out of their fur.

"Geez," Toulouse whispered. "Maybe we should be going."

He said this because he saw, once again, that his brother was about to cry.

"I . . . I don't understand it. Why did the music stop, Toulouse?"

"Hey, ma-"

"WHY DID IT STOP?" Now Berlioz was crying into his older brother's fur, further confusing him.

"Why does it matter?"

"Toulouse," Berlioz began, hugging his brother even tighter. "That song is meant to go from a deep, slow somber mode to a more cheerful one, but it stopped at the sad part."

"Hey, c'mon, brother." Toulouse pushed Berlioz away from him, and patted him on the shoulder. "Maybe it was stopped on purpose, that's all."

"Maybe," Berlioz sniveled when they heard a noise downstairs. "You hear that?"

"Yeah." Toulouse heard it coming up the stairs. "Hide!"

Toulouse dove behind a vase while Berlioz scurried behind another door. The creature climbed up more and more, and the kittens watched silently as it ambled towards them, humming to itself.

"Psst, Toulouse," Berlioz called out. "That sorta sounds like-"

"Well well!" They both jumped out of their places to see a large black cat with a black bowler hat. "What you boys doin' up here?"

Berlioz shook where he stood, but Toulouse stepped forward to greet Scat Cat. "Hey there, Scat Cat."

Scat Cat gave Toulouse a customary high five, and then looked over to Adelaide's door. "Say," he said, taking a seat next to them. "You guys' spyin' on your mom or something?"

Toulouse was about to say something, but Berlioz quickly came in. "No, sir! We were just listening to one of Madame's songs."

Scat Cat flashed them an inquisitive look. "Which one?"

Berlioz gulped; both the other cats looked at him questionably. "Uh, we were listening to Beethoven."

"Ah." He put a paw under his chin. "It wouldn't happen to be the 14th, would it?"

Toulouse looked to his brother, who merely nodded.

"I thought I heard it earlier. Heh heh, thought I was imaginin' things." He stood. "Now then, we need to get you guys ready for the House tonight."

Toulouse gasped. "It's tonight?"

"Yeah," Scat Cat said with alacrity, attempted to straighten Berlioz' bowtie. Failing to do so, he faced the stairs. "We should get goin' now; Marie's already done."

Toulouse ran in front of him. "Should we tell momma that it's almost time?"

"Nah," Scat Cat called back to them. "She'll figure out that we've left on her own."

The two brothers looked at each other. "What? Isn't she going?"

Scat Cat looked back at them; for the first time that night, he looked serious. "Is she?"

"Who knows," Toulouse said as he began to follow the older cat. "Coming, Berlioz?"

"In a moment." The other two walked downstairs, leaving Berlioz there to watch the green double doors in the silence. He couldn't hear them crying anymore; he put his ear to the door and heard a heavy breathing, and nothing else.

"Momma," he said as quiet as he could. "Momma, comment pouvons-nous vous aider?" He walked away slowly to join the others in preparing for the House of Mouse.

"_Ma Duchesse_."

Adelaide finally put Duchess down, both with swollen eyes and weak voices. The vinyl had stopped on its own accord long ago, and they hadn't noticed. Nor did Adelaide bother to remove it from the gramophone. She rose from where she was kneeling, with much help from Duchess pushing her up.

_Oh Madame _. . . Duchess wiped her tears from her face. _Comment puis-je vous aider?_

"Duchess." Adelaide stared at her, not making eye contact. "Vous ai-je condamner?"

Duchess gasped, and ran to Adelaide's leg, rubbing herself against it. _No, Madame. Jamais! _She couldn't think of a time where Adelaide had ever hurt her, let alone condemn her.

"Je suis âgée, et ous êtes vieillit rapidement." Duchess did agree that they were both becoming old, but was confused as to why she bothered saying that Duchess was aging quickly . . . unless . . .

"J'ai fait une erreur."

_C'est assez, Adelaide! _Duchess' heartbeat had quickened; could she really be talking about **it**?

"Duchess." She sat on the zbed, not allowing Duchess to sit on her lap. "Duchess, s'il vous plait laissez-moi pour le moment."

So Duchess left her in the room, checking up on her kittens and her new husband, al; before the silent was broken by the booming car of Georges Hautecourt.


	3. Milk and Cookies

**Now's probably a better time than never to say this: I don't own any of the Disney characters or movies or shows. The name Crothers [I suppose] belongs to Scatman Crothers, the original voice of Scat Cat.**

**Also, I did put in some French in the end. If anyone sees anything wrong with any of the words/sentences, please tell me!**

A rock band could be heard warming up in the House of Mouse.

The night sky had been so dark that Mickey Mouse had personally ordered Max to come inside, to not even bother with the valeting. Daisy and Minnie locked the place down, bolting down the windows. Donald, Goofy and Minnie went around lighting tables for the guests; the electrical lights made many of the people uncomfortable. The darkness and enclosure of the building made it potential for the Music Night to echo and shake the entire House of Mouse, and the guests were eagerly awaiting for _Quacking Pumpkins _to open it.

A mile from there, a ship floated next to a dock and a picturesque beach hidden in darkness. One light shone in that ship, in the cabin's quarters. That was just enough for anyone to see that the water was calm and the ship properly anchored. Anyone could even see that the few palm trees around it were motionless.

In fact, the only motions that could be seen were that of the flickering flames on the candlestick and the gently swaying body of a slender feline woman. The reflection of the light on her red dress made her bare arms and her concentrated face glow. Her green eyes seemed to shimmer as it stared at the moonlight.

"Delbert, Delbert, Delbert," she mused as she increased the volume on her radio. "What shall Mr. Mouse entertain us with first?"

"Ready, boys," quacked Donald Duck from the other side.

"Ready, unca Donald! Are ya ready to rock?"

"Indubita-" Before she could finish, a screech came through the radio that made her cover her ears, and then a roar of "YEAH!" followed. "GAH! What is this-"

"One, two, one two three-"

*Click*

Amelia rubbed her temples with two of her fingers, the other two caressing her eyelids. "What a gaudily insufferable insult to music! I'd rather hear silence in a black hole for all eternity." She looked out at the night sky again, this time watching a starless patch of sky; she rubbed her captain's hat sitting on the post of her regal chair. "Hmm . . . how long did Delbert say the frivolity would last?"

She had almost lifted it from the post when a knock came from the deck. It banged twice.

"*Sigh* Who could it be but Delbert retreating from the raucous festivities?" She went out of her quarters and down the hall. "Is that you, honey?"

Right after she asked, she heard a low noise. It grew louder, sounding almost like a . . .

"Crothers?" She peered out of the door that led outside to the dock, where she saw the black cat with his bowler hat and trumpet in hand.

"Well, delighted to see you, Amelia," he replied, tipping his hat to her. "But not exactly here, I must admit-"

"Where's the other person?"

He furrowed his brow. "Excuse me, madam?"

"You did knock twice, right?" Her hands were on her hips, surveying the entirety of the dock. "You didn't make a mistake, did you?"

"Oh, no madam." He stepped aside, revealing another cat with yellowish eyes and, like Scat Cat, had rounded pupils. "He came along with me."

She glared at him, and he at her. "And may I know your name, sir?"

"Tibbs, ma'am," the tabby cat replied, saluting her.

Amelia stared at him for a moment, mainly at his risen paw. _Does he really know that I'm a captain? Did Crothers tell him? _"Er, Mr. Tibbs-"

"Oh, dreadfully sorry, ma'am," he said, relaxing his front leg, "but I usually go by Sergeant Tibbs."

Her eyebrows rose curiously. "You're in a military?"

"Er, not quite," he replied grinning. "We, the Bark Brigade, are a domestic organization that operates mostly in England and in most of the United Kingdom to protect the lives of various dogs and such."

"Well, my respects to you, Sergeant Tibbs," she said leaning over the boat.

"I appreciate your respects," he said coyly. "Your mannerisms, milady . . . they evoke some sort of military experience, if you don't mind me saying."

"Very intuitive, Sergeant," she replied, beckoning to them. "Would you gentlemen like to come inside?"

Scat Cat patted the tabby cat on the back. "We'd be delighted, Amelia." With that, they walked up the ramp onto her vessel, and they all walked towards the cabin. Amelia opened the door slightly, thought to herself for a second, then looked back at them.

"I must ask you both to please keep the night halcyon. My children are fast asleep, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Will do, madam."

"Yes ma'am, right-o, ma'am."

She opened the door and they proceeded down the hallway. Their paws made very little noise as they proceeded to her quarter. Once in, she gently closed and locked the door before strolling over to one of her cabinets.

"Would you gentlemen care for some wine?"

"No thanks, madam," Scat Cat said setting his trumpet down on the floor. "How 'bout you, Tibbs?"

"No thank you, sir."

"Very well, then," she said a little surprised as she looked around for anything else. "Unfortunately, gentlemen-" she chuckled, and turned around with a sheepish look. "-All I have as refreshments are *chuckle* milk and cookies."

Scat Cat laughed. "You can't beat the simple things, Amelia! Ha ha!"

"Heh heh," she laughed back quietly. "Good one Crothers."

"Actually," Sergeant Tibbs started, staring at the carton in her hand. "If you weren't joking about them . . ."

"Oh," Amelia said quite louder than she would've like. "Er-"

"I wouldn't mind some either," Scat Cat said, also staring at it. "I could go for some milk and cookies right about now."

"Alright then," she said dumbfounded. _I guess I shouldn't break out the venison any time soon!_ She brought botht the carton and the packet over to her table, picked up her paperwork with one swish of her hand, set those aside, and placed the treats down. She then brought out three glasses. "One for you, and one for you."

"And one for you," Scat Cat said playfully. "Since when did you start indulging yourself, Amelia?"

"Since I had children to enjoy some "free time" with," she said as she poured the milk. "Sometimes it's the simple things in life that bring joy to a person."

"Agreed." Scat Cat dunked one of his chocolate chip cookies into the milk and took a bite out of it before continuing, mouth full, "Wha' 'bou' th' mufic?"

". . .Excuse me, Crothers?"

He swallowed. "I mean the music. Have you been listening to any music lately?"

She shuddered as she thought of the screeching that had emerged from the radio. "Uh, yeah."

Sergeant Tibbs licked his cookie for a while before asking, "Would you like to attend the Music Night at the House of Mouse?"

At the mention of the offer, she covered her ears and hissed; the screeching had returned. "Gah, I already heard that ghastly Quacking something, and I'd rather not hear any more of it!"

"Amelia!" Scat Cat petted her until she calmed down. "That was the only rock 'n' roll act there! The rest is casual music."

"Wha'?" She turned on the radio; there was a tune being played on a ukulele, and a singer that sounded like Visel Yelserp or some other humanoid.

"That sounds like Lilo and Stitch's act," Scat Cat said with a chuckle. "The show's barely begun. So whaddaya say, Amelia?"

She turned the knob again to shut it off. "Well, I would," Amelia said coyly, something that made Scat Cat raise his eyebrow. "But-"

"Mommy?"

From out of almost nowhere, her black-haired daughter emerged. She was barely able to walk, but she could talk with some fluency. "Aw you okay, mommy?"

"Ida," she said picking her up. "Mommy's fine. Go back to bed now."

"But I hewd hissing, mommy!"

"Well, these two gentlemen have mommy taken care of." Ida looked at them; Scat Cat tipped his hat to her and Sergeant Tibbs waved. "Okay, sweetie?"

"Okay, mommy." She wobbled out of the quarters and disappeared to bed. Amelia took this time to lock the door, and then sat back down.

"You see, Crothers, that I have children to look after. I simply can't leave them."

Sergeant Tibbs nodded. "I can understand that." He looked over to Scat Cat, who was finishing his second cookie. "What do you think, sir?"

"I think," he began while flipping the third cookie through his fingers, "that we shouldn't push her into going. She has a good reason for staying."

"Thank you Crothers," she humbly said. "Sorry for not being able to enjoy the festivities-"

"Nonsense," he said rather loudly. "Who said you can't enjoy the music? You don't actually need to be there since you have a radio." Before she could protest, he turned the knob, bringing what sounded like "Sing Sweet Nightingale" to the room. "Not sure whether either of the stepsisters will perform; let's hope not."

She looked at them both; Tibbs nodded to and fro while Crothers was motionless, listening to the radio. _Well . . . this was unexpected._ She almost-ALMOST!-thought that her dress was appropriate for the occasion. Smiling, she took a seat in her captain's chair and took a bite from her first cookie.

"So, Captain Amelia," Tibbs began while licking his paws. "How've you been recently?"

"I would surmise slothful," she said swishing her second cookie around the milk. "I haven't had much action lately, so I've been here taking care of my children."

"That's about as much action as you need!" Sergeant Tibbs laughed, and Scat Cat joined in. "Children are a handful of blessings."

"Well, what about you, Mr. Tibbs," she asked setting down her cookie. "How's your life been?"

"To be quite honest, since my routine rescue with the Pongos, I haven't seen any action either." He began to lick his last cookie. "I moved to Devon to be around them a while after, and . . . well, like I said, children are a handful! Of blessings!"

"I see," Amelia chuckled. "And yourself, Crothers?"

"You could say that things are going well."

The other two stopped eating, and stared at him. They both glanced at each other, and then back at him.

"What?"

"You _could _say that," Amelia began seriously. "Would it be true, though, if we did?"

For once, Scat Cat's face grew grim. "It would all depend on how you look at the situation."

"I knew it," she said dipping her third cookie and eating it in one bite. "You've always been straightforward with me, Crothers; you've never used the word _could _when describing how things are."

"True, true." He stopped eating. "I suppose I don't quite understand how things are going."

"We're all ears, Crothers-"

"Tibbs, please call me Scat Cat. The only reason I let Amelia call me by my real name is because she doesn't sound right calling me Scat Cat."

"Yes sir, right-o sir . . . apologies sir."

"It's okay." He turned to face both of them again. "The main problem is Duchess. She's been sulking and crying for almost a month now, and no one knows why. The Madame has been crying with her, and I'd bet that not even their lawyer knows what's going on.

"She does seem to take kindly to us alley cats, and the Madame doesn't seem to have a problem with us either. I just . . . I can't be sure of whether we're the ones causing her this misery."

Amelia too put down her food. "And what about her kittens?"

"Marie doesn't know," he said tapping his fingernails on the table. "But the other two do. They don't know that I know yet."

"And Thomas?"

"No." He stopped his tapping. "Only us three know . . . and you two, now that I think about it."

They were silent for a moment, listening to how Mickey Mouse came onto the radio to announce a special treat for the finale. "To wrap up this show, we'll be having a duet! Isn't that right, Ratigan?"

"It sure is, Michael," the semi-gruff voice replied. "For tonight, I'll be performing a harpist's duet with none other than-"

Amelia turned the knob on the radio, shutting it off before he could say who. "If it's any consolation, Crothers, I'll be here if you need me."

"Thanks, Amelia." They both shared a brief hug, much like friends would share. "Now, could you please turn the radio back on? I'd like to hear that duet."

Amelia nodded and turned the knob one more time. This time, there was a lot of commotion on the radio.

"What do you mean, 'you can't perform'?" An almost inaudible voice spoke. "Madam, I'll make whatever concession you need." The voice spoke again. "Of course we can. The more the merrier! Right guys?" Some cheering ensued, and the voice spoke again. "Well Michael, it seems as though we won't be able to proceed until we find him."

"All right. We'll be taking a short intermission. Don't go away!" The three could barely hear Mickey as he moved away from the microphone and said "Find him!"

"Oh dear." Amelia popped another cookie into her mouth. "I wonder who they're searching for. Do you think that Adelaide's performing?"

"No," Scat Cat said finishing his last cookie. "Adelaide goes by Madame; he said madam. I'd also guess," he mused quietly, "that Madame Mim isn't going to perform either."

"Dear, oh dear." Amelia twirled the last cookie in her hand. "Delbert's going to have an interesting story to tell me when he comes home."

"Delbert?" Tibbs finished his last cookie. "He's your boyfriend?"

She chuckled awkwardly. "Husband, Mr. Tibbs."

"Oh," he said with a surprised tone. "Well, uh, congratulations."

"Why're you-" but before she could finish, her phone rang. "Excuse me a second." She went and picked it up. "Captain Amelia speaking."

"Hello, sweetie."

"Delbert!" She looked back at the other two; they stopped moving and stared at her. "How's the Music Night treating you?"

"Oh, it's going great," he said with a nervous laugh. "I've been told to call you."

"By whom?"

"Mickey."

She grew serious; she couldn't think of any reason why Mickey would want to talk to her. "So, what can I do for you?"

"I'm-well, he-wants to know whether a Scat Cat is there."

She looked back at Scat Cat. "They want to know if you're here."

He simply nodded and said "Go ahead and tell 'em."

"Yes, Scat Cat's here."

"Oh," he said, sounding even more nervous. "Uh, Mickey? She says the Scat Cat is with her."

"WHAT?" Amelia had to move the phone away from her; a large commotion was buzzing on the radio, and Delbert was screaming.

"Honey? Are you alright?"

"Hello?" It was Mickey. "Are you Amelia?"

"Yes, I am."

"May I speak with Scat Cat?"

"Er, okay." She looked back. "Crothers? They'd like to talk to you."

Scat Cat furrowed his brow, but took the phone anyway. "Hello?" Some silence ensued, then he looked at her. "Sorry, but I gotta talk in my native tongue."

"Please," she said. "Whatever's easiest."

He turned his attention back to the phone. "Bonsoir, Duchess! Comment ça va?". . . "Quel est le problem?" . . . "Vraiment?" . . . "Oui, je serai là dans un moment." . . . "Oui, j'amènerai ma trompette." . . . . . "Ce n'est pas un problème. Ne pas s'inquiéter, Duchess. Je serai lá dans un moment." . . . "De rien." . . . "Au revoir."

He hung up the phone and looked back at the other two. "Je ne se pas-I mean, I don't know what's going on, but I have to leave." He walked to the table and downed his milk. "I think we must leave now, Tibbs."

"Right-o, sir." He finished his milk and stretched out. "Apologies for the brisk departure, madam."

"It's no trouble," she replied finishing her milk. "Here, I'll walk you guys out."

"Thanks, Amelia." Scat Cat grabbed his trumpet and they all proceeded out of the captain's quarters and walked down the hallway. When they reached the dock, they all faced each other.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Amelia."

"Yes, thank you madam."

"Anytime Crothers, Tibbs." She watched as they both walked down the ramp. "Are you going to walk back?"

"We walked here," Scat Cat said reassuringly. "We can walk back."

"NO THEY CAN'T!" They all looked up to see three people on a flying carpet. One of them was of course Aladdin, one Merlin, and the other one was, as Amelia recognized, was a robot policeman from Montresser. "You all need to come with me; you're needed at the House."

"Well," Amelia began with a deeper tone caused from the third loud noise that night. "I suppose this is where we part ways."

"Oh, no," Aladdin said. "I've been instructed to take you along with us."

She blinked at them for a moment, then shook her head. "Preposterous. I have children to look after."

"We know," the robot said. "I've been sent here to watch over them while you are there."

"Uh, no," she replied bluntly. "That's not going to happen."

"I see," Aladdin said. "Merlin?"

"Higgitus figgitus zumba kazaa!"

"Er . . . what are you doing?"

"I want your attention, Amelia!" And just like that she faced him completely erect, ears perked for instructions.

"What the-" Amelia strained to free herself. "Unconjure me at once!"

"Come with us to the House or else I will make you **dance** all the way there!"

"All right," she groaned. "Unbewitch me and I'll go with you."

"Lovely."Soon Amelia was free to move again, and she climbed aboard the magic carpet.

"Do not worry, ma'am. Your children will be safe."

"They better be," was all she replied as the carpet began to fly away.

"Nice place you have here, by the way. I'm sure you get a lot of peace and quiet."

"You have absolutely no idea."

**Apologies for taking so long; I have no excuse.**


	4. Reviews

_Sadly I do not have a record of the reviews this story received when it was first uploaded. I do have a record of all the reviews it received after Heddwynn reposted it in March 2011, however. They are included below._

William Stock

An Eternity to be Over, Ch 1 2011-06-10 2011-03-13

Characters: The characters are all fairly well done, and I enjoyed them. I do feel that Little Sister was rather bland, but the characters were mostly well written and interesting. 2/2

Setting: The description was very excellent. The setting was perfect. 2/2

Prose: The prose is your best area. I have studied and will study it for influence on my own work. The prose was wonderful, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. 1/1

Spelling & Grammar: I think there are a few mistakes, but for the most part, it's very good. 1/2.

Motivations: All are pretty good. We don't know what Ratigan's motivation at the end is yet, but I imagine we'll figure out. 1/1.

Plot: There doesn't seem to be any plot at this point, but it is the first chapter and it is hard to start the plot immediately, and as it is, it's good as a set-up. The dialogue between the characters was very interesting and good. I loved the way the narrative flowed. Very, very interesting. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

I'll end this by giving you a 9.8/10.

William Stock

An Eternity to be Over, Ch 2 2011-08-01 2011-03-13

I love the tone in this chapter. It's very, very dreary, and has a lot of suspense to it.

The parts with Madame and Duchess, the kittens listening by the stairs. It all has a very thick layer of suspense on it, making us wonder what horrible secret Madame is hiding, and I just loved the general tone.

So I liked it, and it was helped a lot by me actually listening to "The Moonlight Sonata", by the way.

William Stock

An Eternity to be Over, Ch 3 2011-08-31 2011-03-13

Madame's "Moonlight Sonata" record may have failed to go from a somber, dismal mood to a cheerful, lighter mood, but this story has not, for this is precisely what it does in this third chapter of "An Eternity to Be Over".

I liked reading Amelia's talk with Sergeant Tibbs and Scat Cat. All are very enjoyable characters, and it was a very nice conversation. Most of the interactions between your characters are very fun to read, and I thought Amelia's response to the Montressor police robot sent to babysit her children was funny.

And I do wonder what the mystery Madame is hiding that she is now so depressed about is. What I enjoy about this story is that, unlike your future story, "Conscience and Law," is that it knows what it is about, and sticks with it.

There is one thing that bothered me, however: I thought it made sense for characters from "The Great Mouse Detective" and "The Aristocats" to both play out here, since they do take place rather close in time to each other, but I was rather annoyed by the introduction of the House of Mouse.

The House of Mouse frequents all Disney characters, no matter what time or country they are from, and it brings up a lot of questions. For example, Ratigan's defeat is clearly shown to have actually happened in the real world in the first chapter, and yet how could it have when the House of Mouse patrons seem to be actors from those movies? Cruella says in one episode of House of Mouse, "One movie and you're labeled for life." Overall, I would have kept the House of Mouse out, personally, and I was disappointed at its inclusion.

But I still liked the conversations, and the chapter ends on a very intriguing note. I think that "'They better be,' was all she replied as the carpet began to fly away." was a better ending for the story than the joke that ends it now, because the joke is rather cliched, and I think it weakens the chapter more than if it ended with "'They better be,' was all she replied as the carpet began to fly away."


End file.
